


A very naughty schoolboy and a professor with a cane

by mypassionfortrash



Series: Roger Taylor fics and one-shots [38]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breakfast in Bed, F/M, Roger's 40th birthday, Roger's a sloppy horny drunk who can't keep his eyes long enough to get his birthday present, a tiny bit of angst, a tiny bit of fluffy, this is inspired by that legendary birthday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypassionfortrash/pseuds/mypassionfortrash
Summary: Roger's been dreading his fortieth birthday after realising he's starting to age – he's even started stealing your eye cream! So you decide to make his birthday special.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Series: Roger Taylor fics and one-shots [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1221674
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	A very naughty schoolboy and a professor with a cane

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of our favourite thot's birthday on the 26th!

The sweltering July sun beamed in through the curtains. The clock had just gone seven, and yet the balmy heat smothered you, gluing your body to Roger’s in the most uncomfortable way. And yet, with his scent filling every inch of your consciousness, and the soft rise and fall of his tanned skin lulling you back to sleep, you couldn’t bear to rip yourself away from him. But you had work to do.  
Even the hardwood floor scorched your soles when you dangled them over the edge. But you had to get a move on if you wanted to cling to the element of surprise. Roger’s black fine silk robe was draped across the foot of the bed, and its orange embroidered tiger motif shimmered in the light. You couldn’t contemplate actual clothes, so you threw it over your shoulders – for the benefit of the people downstairs whose shifts had begun two hours prior.  
The halls of Millhanger buzzed with caterers and decorators, and party planners with tiny earpieces in their ears and little clipboards in their hands. They talked fast and moved faster. And when you descended into the kitchen, their eyes widened, and they scuppered with just a click of your fingers. Suddenly, you were alone with a box of eggs, a packet of bacon, and a whole day to kill before the party of the century.

* * *

  
A month earlier, you arrived home from a long day at work to find Roger, round-shouldered and bleary-eyed in front of your dressing table. He was fresh out of the shower and clad in just his bathrobe, combing through his mane of hair and staring intently at his reflection. He was more withdrawn than usual. Normally he would keen for you to kiss him, to hug him and to smother him with affection. He adored the attention. But not today. Your ‘hello honey’ kisses were met with sullen indifference that made you believe you had done something to hurt him before you left.   
“Are you alright?”  
Roger didn’t even look at you. He just linked his fingers together in his lap and stared down at them. His voice sounded unusually quiet. “Do you think I’m getting old?”  
Scooting around and perching yourself on Roger’s knee, you kissed his cheek again. “What’s got into you?”  
Roger wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck. “It’s just,” he began, “I caught myself in the mirror there and I couldn’t fucking believe it. Grey hair. All these wrinkles. This fucking spare tyre. I’m a mess and I want to be young again.”  
Resting your chin on Roger’s head, you held him in complete silence. Roger could be dramatic and blow things out of proportion just because he could. But today, you noticed the longing in his voice, and the small pout on his lips. He was so young at heart that you never noticed him aging. And then your brain came up with an idea. A brilliant one, fit for a lifelong funster like Roger.  
“We better make your birthday special, then.”  
Almost as soon as you suggested that, Roger cut you off. “Can I steal your eye cream?”  
“What?”  
“I swore you had some lines coming on before you bought it,” he said, sliding the glass container across the shiny surface.  
“And is it working?” you asked.  
Roger turned to you, squinting at your eyes. Studying them. “Still gorgeous. What’s in it?”  
“Pig’s placenta, probably. Costs a fortune. Smells like arse, too.”  
Roger grimaced for a split second. “Probably worth it.”  
With a smile, you picked up the tub. “Here,” you said, dipping your finger into the luxurious potion, “look up, and I’ll tell you what we’re doing for your birthday.”

* * *

  
Roger was still flat on his back when you came back with a tray piled with eggs and bacon and pancakes and a jug full of bloody Mary with extra vodka. He looked so peaceful. Even as you sat the tray down on the side and sat on the edge of the bed, he didn’t stir. Not even when you peeled back the duvet. He was always such a heavy sleeper and he always slept in the nude; today, you got to use that to your advantage. After all, it was his birthday.   
He looked gorgeous with his sun-kissed skin and the smattering of hair on his chest. His hair stuck out in all directions naturally; it didn’t need coaxing, although a night of passion beforehand always helped. But what really piqued your interest was his deliciously soft stomach. That was the push you needed to finally allow your hands to wander.   
His eyes stayed closed when you dragged your fingertips from his navel down his abdomen. But then, you noticed his eyelids flutter slightly when you curled short strands of hair around your fingers. You knew he was awake, trying to savour the moment. To see how far you’d be prepared to go.   
Two could play at that game.  
Roger’s cock was inviting to say the least. Thick, veined and already semi-hard. Eager to have it in your mouth, you leaned over and licked a wet, lazy stripe along the underside, keeping your eyes firmly on Roger's face for any semblance of enjoyment.  
You loved feeling him grow hard in your mouth, easing yourself into it. He still wasn’t stirring, so you tried one thing that was sure to wake him up with a bang. When his length was nice and wet, you took as much of it in your mouth as you could until your eyes burned and your gag reflex intervened.   
Just the sound of you coaxed Roger’s hand into your hair, guiding you back down. “You know how much I love hearing you gag on my dick,” he groaned.   
“Happy birthday,” you grinned, following Roger’s lead. Lips slick and parted, and your tongue giving the tip a precursory lap, you delved down again with Roger’s fist balled up in your hair.   
“Best birthday ever.”  
You came up for air again with strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. “Yeah?”  
Roger nodded with his lower lip pulled between his teeth.  
Your jaw was already starting to ache. You always hated being a quitter, but he was so thick that the pain came on so suddenly. So, you wrapped your hand around his girth, fingers barely meeting around it as they moved while you turned your attention elsewhere. A sharp, pathetic little moan escaped Roger when you trailed your tongue over his balls. You relished how full and tight they felt.  
“Oh god, look at me,” he sighed. “Let me see those pretty eyes. Look at me while you suck my balls, kitten.”  
It didn’t take much to get Roger off in the morning, and you could tell by the way his cheeks flushed and his breathing quickened that his peak wasn’t far away. With an enthusiastic moan, you admired him and gently took each one in your mouth, caressing it with your lips and tongue. All the while your hand did the heavy lifting, with slick, fluid motions around his shaft.   
“Suck it again, kitten,” Roger instructed with a strangled moan. “Daddy’s got such a big load for you.” He continued coaxing you as you eagerly sucked and slobbered on his cock in a way that disgusted you deep down and made your cunt drip. The muscles in Roger’s thigh twitched as his head tilted back and his grip on your hair tightened. “So eager for daddy’s cum, aren’t you?” he hissed.  
Of course, through your mouthful, you only managed a frazzled whine. But that was more than enough of a cue for Roger. And you.  
When Roger’s balls were successfully drained and the last rogue drops of cum had been wiped from your chin, you sat up beside a red-faced and breathless Roger. He couldn’t even open his eyes as he spoke. “I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”  
“You are getting on a bit,” you purred, stroking his hair. Then you leaned in to whisper in his ear, “and you’re very very rich.”  
“Oh, you!” He exclaimed with a swat to your thigh. “It’d still be the most fantastic way to go.” Roger went back to his exhausted daze for a few moments. Then, like a starving bunny seeking the biggest, juiciest carrot, Roger’s nose began to twitch. “Mmm,” he said, licking his lips. “What is that?”  
“Breakfast.” You kissed Roger’s hair and grabbed the tray from the side. “It’s probably cold by now, though.”  
Roger shrugged. “Bacon’s bacon. Now, feed me, wench!”  
  


* * *

  
You picked up a rasher of bacon and dangled it above Roger’s mouth. “What the birthday boy wants… Open wide.”  
“Have you seen my lovely girlfriend?” A tipsy Roger asked any partygoer he saw. Complete with shorts and blazer, he looked every inch the naughty schoolboy he was at heart. However, he was too far gone to realise he was explaining your appearance to Brian and Anita. “She seems to have gone missing. She’s about this height, gorgeous, a lot younger than me… Very very beautiful. Almost… too beautiful!”  
Something behind Roger caught Brian’s eye. He turned to Anita during Roger’s babbling and shrugged.  
Roger was sober enough to cotton on that the pair were less than invested in his detailed description of a woman they had met about a hundred times. His face fell as he trailed off. “What?”  
Anita pointed towards the doorway, “turn around, you great bloody idiot!”  
Roger blundered around until he was looking in the right direction.  
Everything about your robe and leather getup felt ridiculous, wheeling in Roger’s babe-adorned birthday cake to a rousing rendition of ‘happy birthday’ in front of a thousand guests. Every move you made, every sway of your hips made your skin burn and the noose around your heart tighten. But you knew that everyone’s eyes weren’t on you. They were on the birthday boy. Standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by his best friends. With the goofiest look on his face that you had ever seen. And yet, he only had eyes for you.  
When the cake-cutting, food-fighting performance was over, Roger finally found you, holding you out at arm’s length to admire you with eyes that practically bulged from his head. “Wow,” he chuckled. “Does the outfit come with a cane, Professor?”  
You giggled and looked down at your feet for a moment. “It comes with whatever you want, Master Taylor. I imagine you’ve been very mischievous already this evening.”  
“Oh, I have,” he said with a knowing wink. He carefully glanced around the room, unable to focus on anything in particular. Then he turned back to you. “I think I’m going to need to be punished.”  
“Alright, Roggie,” you said, scratching his chin as if he were a keen little pet. “Meet me upstairs in the study in one hour.”  
Just shy of midnight, you climbed the stairs up to the study, leaving the thrum of the party – which had barely hit its stride – behind.   
You moved fast down the hall, cane in hand, eager not to miss your meeting with Roger. If only for someone to tell you how great you looked in spite of what the mirror told you. But you couldn’t help getting distracted by the pictures on the walls from years gone by. The highs of Queen’s career. No wonder Roger wanted to feel young again; he still was at heart. But he couldn’t get past the fact that his baby blonde hair was nearly fully grey, and his lithe frame was softer now. To you, though, he looked just as beautiful now as he did in photographs from 1976.  
Remembering your mission, you moved even quicker towards the room at the very end. The party might have been a million miles away if it wasn’t for the glowing lights from the garden illuminating your path.  
Finally, you reached the study. The heavy, stately door was left ajar, so you knocked. Just in case Roger had got started without you. But your heart sank when there was no response from him. Had he forgotten about your plan? He had been rather wasted when you saw him an hour prior.  
You pushed the door and wandered inside to find Roger’s feet dangling over the arm of the sofa in the middle of the room. Then you worried.  
“Roger?” you said. “Are you alright?”  
The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Delicate snores punctuated every peaceful breath. Flat on his back, glasses askew, Roger had decided to take a nap, as if there wasn’t a whole party happening in his name.   
Not wanting to wake him up, you took off your robe and tucked Roger up underneath it.  
But at the exact moment you reached the threshold to leave, a drowsy voice caught your attention. “W-where are you going? We haven’t even got started, Professor!”  
You glanced over your shoulder to see the top of Roger’s head peeking above the back of the sofa. You could tell from the lines around his eyes that he was smiling. “Here was me thinking you had fallen asleep on me, birthday boy,” you said, sauntering over to him, still clutching your cane.  
“I was just… Resting my eyes,” he slurred, trying to sit up straight. “But I’m awake now. And so ready.”  
Roger’s entire body wavered when he finally managed to assume an upright position, earning a giggle from you. “Wouldn’t you rather rest your eyes some more?” you asked.  
“You see,” Roger began, trying to look coy and boyish with an exaggerated pout, “I’ve been very very bad, you know.”  
“Really?”  
“Mmmhm,” he nodded, still swaying. “I’m going to need to be punished.”  
“And I suppose you want me to punish you now, while you’re drunk, do you?”  
Roger blundered to his feet and fumbled with his belt. “Here,” he said, “I’ll even take these off. I’m not ending my fortieth birthday without a red bottom, Professor! I’ve been a very naughty boy.” After successfully shuffling out of his shorts, he fell forward, leaning against the back of the sofa and sticking out his bottom. He couldn’t hold that position for long at all, and all you could do was watch him, sinking down on to his side as his eyes grew weary again. “So, so…”  
“Naughty?”  
Roger’s eyes flew open and he nodded profusely. “Yes, Professor!”  
You plopped yourself down on Roger’s lap and admired him. He was always so keen when he was drunk. But he just couldn’t party as hard as he used to. “You have been very naughty,” you said, stroking his hair. “Falling asleep at your own party. I think we need to get you to bed, don’t we?”  
“Sounds scrummy,” he grinned. Then, he puckered his lips, leaning in to plant a wet, sloppy kiss on your cheek. He reeked of booze, but even in this state, there was something rather endearing about him. It made you want to scoop up this grown man and lead him off to bed.   
So, doing just that, you propped Roger up against your body and you set about staggering towards the master bedroom. On the other side of the building. And up another flight of stairs.  
No one spotted you, fortunately. But with Roger being three sheets to the wind, the pair of you managed to clatter to the floor no less than six times on your extended voyage. All the while Roger babbled about how wonderful his party was, and how he couldn’t believe he was throwing in the towel while the night was still young. He even went as far as to demand you lead him back downstairs for round two, in his underwear! That would have been a terrible idea, and deep down, he probably knew it.  
Eventually, you and Roger burst into the bedroom. Exhausted and out of breath from dragging him there, you were eager to offload him as soon as possible, by dumping him unceremoniously on the bed.  
Not that Roger minded. He had decided to cocoon himself in the duvet, lying horizontally across the bed with a blissful smile.  
The only thing left to do was to sit his glasses on the bedside table, take off his shoes and give him a goodnight kiss. You knew you would be sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms.  
  


* * *

  
Roger didn’t resurface until teatime the following day. Wandering into the kitchen wearing his clothes from the night before, he got one waft of the lasagne in the oven and made a beeline for the loo.  
He thought you hadn’t noticed, until you knocked on the door, right as the bile soared up his gullet again.  
“Need me to hold your hair back?” you asked, peeking through the two-inch gap to find Roger hunched over the toilet.  
His voice echoed in the bowl as he directly addressed the former contents of his stomach. “I’m never drinking again. I’m too old for this.”  
“Yeah,” you said, laughing at the sight of him still dressed as a naughty schoolboy, “you look like it.”  
Roger sat back against the wall and allowed you to dab the chunks from the corners of his mouth. “Did I do anything embarrassing?” he asked. “And where did my shorts go?”  
“If I remember correctly, you were very very naughty and begged me for a nice, red bottom in the study,” you smiled. “Before you passed out and I had to drag you to bed at midnight. I imagine that must have been the most embarrassing bit. Leaving the party so soon.”  
Horror clouded Roger’s eyes when everything came flooding back to him. But in typical Taylor fashion, he played it cool. “Well, you did look rather fetching in all that leather.”  
You flopped down on the floor beside Roger and turned to him with a furrowed brow. “You think?”  
He nodded.  
“I looked ridiculous in it, I’m not going to lie.”  
“It’s just a shame I never got to help you take it off.”  
“Be grateful you didn’t. Nightmare. Nothing like getting your bits caught in a zipper. And the wedgie I had – camel toe, too! Never again,” you said, shaking your head.  
“I wore tight trousers in the seventies. Believe me, I know,” he laughed. “Worth it though.”  
“Glad you thought so.”  
“Wear that little bodysuit for me again, will you?”  
You made a mental note never to wear it again, but you had to give him hope in the state that he was in. “Sure. So, how does the big 4-0 feel?”  
“Fucking terrible. But I suppose there’s one thing I’m grateful for.”  
“What’s that?”  
“I haven’t injured myself… you know…” Roger trailed off, awkwardly thrusting his hips.  
“There’s still time. I have plans for you,” you said. “When you don’t smell like vodka and vomit.”


End file.
